


a moment of reflection

by danganronpa69



Category: DanganRonpa 69: There’s MORE goddamn hope!?
Genre: Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Self-Harm, Spoilers, Timed Fic, also if it matters the s/h isn’t too graphic, didn’t know whether to tag for graphic depictions of violence or not so judge based on these tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:21:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27598826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/danganronpa69/pseuds/danganronpa69
Summary: After a distressing second Class Trial, the Conductor reflects upon his actions in the killing game thus far.[1hr challenge piece]
Relationships: The Conductor (A Hat in Time)/King Dedede
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6





	a moment of reflection

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lennardd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lennardd/gifts).



> as the summary suggests, this piece was written in just an hour! apologies if that affects the flow of the story. 
> 
> basically i wanted to write some depressing condedede so here we are :) who knows, may just rewrite this later. the concept for this is one of my favorites, so it’s almost a guarantee i’ll end up using it again. stay tuned, i suppose.
> 
> but anyways. :) enjoy!!

The Conductor sat on his bed, facing the opposite wall of his room in complete silence.

The air felt murky around him, and the cold felt like it could have made blisters on his skin. The silence only made things worse. Restlessly, the Conductor fidgeted with the ends of his blazer, as though that would give him some sort of comfort in his anxiety. His gaze burned into the wall in front of him. After a while, the empty colorlessness of the wall started to burn into him as well.

Emptiness.

That was all he felt. Emptiness. In the course of just a few hours, his entire world had become empty — even emptier than it already was, considering the “killing game.” 

He’d sworn to himself, when that bear first cracked the news of the “game,” that he wouldn’t get attached to anyone. He wouldn’t make connections, he wouldn’t get invested in the lives of any of his fellow captives.  _ God, how stupid.  _ Of course he’d mess around and get attached to someone.  _ Of course he would. _

The Conductor buried his head in his hands. He wanted to scream. But even though he knew the rooms were soundproof and that he could… he didn’t. Maybe it was because he knew if he screamed, he’d be admitting that he’d grown attached to that  _ damned penguin.  _ Maybe it was because he saw it as a sign of weakness. Whatever it was, it kept whatever scream he wanted to let out internalized.

He took his face from his hands and instead gripped the feathers on the side of his head. Still, he continued to stare at the wall. It was somehow the only thing in the room that didn’t remind him of that…  _ corpse.  _ The corpse in the theatre room… positioned above the stage, as though being showcased… that  _ pained expression… the rope tightly around his throat— _

Before his thoughts could even finish, the Conductor began aggressively tugging at his own feathers. As he did, a few came loose, and when the Conductor drew his hands from his face he could see them, tips slightly bloody, in his balled fists. He tossed them to the floor and started tugging again, this time at the feathers on his neck. Not quite his throat, but close enough. Somehow, they came loose even easier, and by the time the Conductor was finished, there was a small pile of feathers on the ground before him.

He wrapped his arms around himself. He noticed that he was shaking. He could barely keep himself still, if at all.

Everything hurt. Everything felt empty. He felt like a shell of what he used to be.

Ever since discovering that  _ corpse…  _ the corpse of his former… rival? Enemy?... everything felt completely numb. He didn’t want to admit he’d gotten attached, but…

_ You never even got to apologize. _

_ You never even got to make up. _

_ He died hating you. _

_ He died because you upset him enough to walk into a death trap. _

_ This is your fault. _

_ This is your fault. _

_ All your fault. _

He screamed.

He screamed as loud as he could and for as long as he could. He screamed with all the strength within him.

When his voice was nearly dead and tears began to roll down his face, he stopped, instead succumbing to the sobs that had begun to take control of his voice.

And so he sobbed. He sobbed and wailed because  _ everything could have been prevented.  _ They could have made up. They could have talked things out. And then maybe Dedede would have still been alive and they could have become friends and Conductor could have told him how much he meant to him. Then maybe the Conductor wouldn’t have been sobbing on his bed, struck with the realization that he was all alone. That that stupid penguin was the only person he’d bothered getting attached to, and now he was gone. Forever.

Eventually, the Conductor’s tears subsided, and he wiped off his face. He was exhausted from crying, but he didn’t want to sleep. Not yet. A part of him was nervous that if he did, that  _ corpse _ would show up in his nightmares. So, instead, he got up and walked to the bathroom.

In the dim light of the bathroom, the Conductor washed off his face with some cold water in an attempt to rid himself of all the evidence of his previous breakdown. As he did, he stared into the mirror at the spots on his face where he’d pulled feathers from and wondered if they’d be too visible. In the end, he shrugged it off and figured that if anyone asked, he could blame it on stress.

Even still, he continued to stare at himself in the bathroom mirror. He wasn’t sure why. He wasn’t even sure if the person he was staring at was himself anymore.

He paused.

Hesitantly, the Conductor removed his purple necktie and unbuttoned the first few buttons of his collar, moving it to the side to reveal his throat.

No longer was the Conductor staring at his face in the mirror, but now instead at the single long rope burn scar that stretched across his neck. He’d always kept it hidden underneath his collar, but now seemed an acceptable time to study it, considering the circumstances.

It was almost comical. Oh, if only he could show Dedede. What would he say? Maybe Conductor would say something like “I’ve had my own experiences with strangulation in the past,” and Dedede would say something along the lines of “That’s not funny, Conductor” or “Suicide isn’t funny, Conductor.” And the Conductor would simply laugh.

...Maybe not so comical, then.

He sighed, leaving the bathroom to go rest on his bed.

Just before he laid down though, something seemed to flicker in the corner of his eye. His head snapped towards it, looking into the shadows where it had seemed to be. Yet nothing was there.

_...God, now I’m hallucinating. _

The Conductor laid down in his bed, staring up at the ceiling. He knew he wasn’t going to get any sleep tonight — barely any, if at all — but the least he could do was rest and silently hope that the next time he fell unconscious, it wouldn’t be for the wrong reasons.


End file.
